


A Friend In Need

by blackrabbit42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 09:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14376213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackrabbit42/pseuds/blackrabbit42
Summary: Sam and Dean discover that the wardrobe doesn't only lead to Narnia





	A Friend In Need

++++++++

This isn’t Dean’s first visit—they know him here. Sometimes it’s the cabin in Wisconsin, sometimes it’s Walnut Grove, but in his head, it’s always Little House on the Prairie.

“Morning, Charles,” he says as he tips his hat towards the woman. “Morning, Caroline.”

He doesn’t see Laura or Mary anywhere. They might be down by the creek picking blackberries, but Baby Grace is peeking from behind her mamma’s skirts. It’s windy on the prairie, the sky is blue and the sun is warm; the perfect day to work up a sweat doing an honest day’s work.

Dean rolls up his sleeves. “Ready?” he asks.

Charles picks up his axe. “Let’s go.”

Building a log cabin is hard work, but it’s the kind of hard work that is good for you. Dean loves it. Loves the patient way that Charles shows him how to use the unfamiliar tools, loves building something up rather than destroying it. At lunchtime, Caroline serves them thick chunks of cornbread and honey, and the girls show up with their tin cups full of blackberries.

Mary is shy and keeps her eyes down, but Laura squeals and runs like a cotton-tail around the perimeter of the new cabin walls when Dean chases her. When they return to the family and flop down in the grass, panting, Caroline says, “Oh, Charles, look how Laura’s eyes are shining.”

All in all, it's a pretty good way to spend a rainy Saturday in the bunker.

++++++++

Sam knows without his saying so that Dean really loves that wardrobe. Sure, Sam likes to visit inside it from time to time, and he gets a little nostalgic for his favorite childhood books and more innocent times, but Dean loves playing around in there. He’ll come into the kitchen, arms loaded down with sweets, an everlasting gobstopper in his mouth and even a little bit of chocolate in his hair, and Sam will know it’s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory in the wardrobe this week. Or he’ll forget that he’s back and say “lumos,” instead of getting up to turn on the damn light.

It seems to change every five or six days, and Sam admits, it’s kind of fun taking little breaks in there, trying to be the first to guess what book the wardrobe has led them to. He’s surprised how many childhood books Dean remembers, until Dean reminds him that he’d read them to Sam before Sam could read them himself.

Whoville is a migraine-inducing, trippy sort of place. Dean gets in trouble in Wonderland, of course. Nothing about growing up as a hunter would have warned him eating something with a tag saying eat me was a bad idea. Sam does not even want to think about the Little Women fiasco.

They spend a whole four days on Watership Down before they realize where they are. Dean is the one who finally recognizes Bigwig from his battle scars and shock of un-rabbit-like hair. He holds his breath in wonder when he sees Hazel hop out of the Honeycomb, dragging his lame leg slightly.

They spend as much time as they can in Oz, looking for Charlie, but there’s no word of her. Sam worries about what might happen if it’s time for the wardrobe to change while they’re inside it. Before they get out, it happens, and they find themselves face to face with an astonished Robinson Crusoe. They bring him some food the next time they visit, and some seeds for his garden. And some damn pants, for goodness sakes.

Dean tries to talk some sense into the Giving Tree, telling her that the Boy is a sad-sack moocher and that she deserves better, much better. She gives him an apple and thanks him for his kind advice, but the next time they see her, she’s cradling the Boy in her leafy branches and Dean just walks back out in disgust.

When Sam visits the island where the Wild Things are, his throat tightens, remembering how badly he wanted to be like Max and rumpus with those monsters, be king of them all.

++++++++

“Thank you, boys. I ain’ got no way to repay you.”

The woman is dirty, the kind of dirty you get from working in a coal mine when the dust digs its way into your pores and shows no sign of leaving, ever. She lives so far out in the woods that it’s a miracle they ever heard about her case, but as it was, they had overheard some documentary film makers talking about how the little girl they interviewed “really creeped them out”. From the way they were talking, it had all the signs of a malevolent spirit, so they’d checked it out.

Turned out a deceased twin had been haunting his sister, a lonely eight year old girl who had been reluctant to let her ghostly playmate go.

“That’s okay ma’am, it’s what we do,” Dean says, their patent line.

“Just glad we could help,” chimes in Sam, but he’s looking over the woman’s shoulder to the little girl sitting on the porch stairs. She’s got a million mile stare going that makes her look years beyond her age, and incredibly sad. She twirls a strand of white-blond hair around her finger, over and over.

“I gotta get to work,” the woman says. “I’ve missed too much work as it is over this, foreman’s breathing down my neck.” She hollers back to the girl as she starts walking down the dirt path leading out to the road. “You be good, Rebecca.” She doesn’t look back.

“We can give you a ride,” Dean offers, but she just waves them off. “You boys have done enough.” She’s probably something close to twenty-six or so, was probably pretty once, widowed five years. It speaks volumes that she doesn’t give Dean with his bright green eyes and friendly smile a second glance. She’s that worn down.

Sam looks back at the little girl, Rebecca, and thinks she’s just her mother, waiting to happen.

++++++++

“Nancy Drew,” Dean says, jerking his thumb back toward the wardrobe room. “Mystery at Lilac Inn, if I’m not mistaken.” He plops down on the sofa, stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t look like he just spent time with the first literary crush he’d ever had.

“And the car?”

“Gorgeous,” Dean confirms. He reaches over to the coffee table and grabs the beer bottle that he left there earlier, sniffs it, shrugs and takes a swig.

Now Sam’s really concerned. The only other fictional car that could possibly be competition for Nancy’s powder blue convertible is the General Lee, and Dean had made them drive six hours out of their way to see it at Dollywood three summers ago. That had been just a prop car. The real Nancy Drew and her actual-factual car should have elicited more of a reaction from Dean.

“What’s on your mind, Dean?”

“Do you remember when Dad made me give you my He-Man pajamas?”

Sam shakes his head no. “He made you give me all your pajamas, eventually.”

“Yeah, but I really loved those ones.” Dean laughs quietly and shakes his head. “Masters of the Universe. It’s dorky now, but back then… I didn’t want to give them up. Dad must have gotten distracted, because he never actually made me do it, but after he’d asked me and you clearly wanted them, the fun kind of went out of wearing them. All of a sudden, they seemed too babyish to me, and playing He-Man suddenly seemed forced. I went ahead and gave them to you, and… you should have seen your face, Sam, it was like I was passing on something sacred; a legacy.”

Sam waits; Dean will come out with it eventually, but he already has an idea where this might be going.

Dean’s quiet for a moment, picking at the paper label on his beer. “That last case,” he says finally. “I’m not really sure we ‘saved’ anyone. I mean, don’t get me wrong. They’re better off without that spirit hanging around, but…” Dean trails off.

“I know,” Sam says. There were no toys in Rebecca’s room, he remembers. No book shelf. No haphazard pile of coloring books or old jars of worn down crayons. No neighborhood full of kids. Just a tired, broken mother and long days full of waiting to grow up and… and what? Go to work in the mine, like her mom? That kid didn’t know anything else. Didn’t have anything to show her what else could even exist for her.

“Do you think we could—“

“Yes,” says Sam. “Yeah, I think that would be great.”

++++++++

They pick the perfect week to deliver the wardrobe. Rebecca’s mother is working overtime at the mine, but tells them over the phone that they can just bring it on in. She doesn’t question their motives. When you’re that poor, you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

This week, inside the wardrobe is James and the Giant Peach.

At first, Rebecca is afraid of the overgrown insects, terrified of the great height from which they hover over the ocean. But Sam holds her hand, and Dean introduces her to James.

“Rebecca, this is James and his friends. They’re kind, and funny, and you’ll be perfectly safe up here on the peach.”

“How do you do?” James asks Rebecca, and she tilts her head mutely, clearly wondering at his charming British accent.

“What, is she dumb?” calls out Centipede.

“Shut up,” scolds Earthworm. “Can’t you ever stop making fun of the disabled?”

Rebecca giggles when Earthworm gives Centipede a slimy smack with the end of his tail.

“Don’t mind them, dear,” Ladybug chimes in kindly. “They’re harmless. Tell us, where did you come from?”

Rebecca looks uncertainly up at Sam, who nods encouragement. “The wardrobe,” she whispers.

James says, “Splendid,” as if that makes perfect sense.

“Remember,” Dean tells her, “the door to get back is always right behind you—you can turn around and walk out at any time.”

“And nothing can hurt you here,” Sam adds. “One time, Dean got eaten by Shere Khan in the Jungle Book, and he ended up right back home.”

“Didn’t even hurt,” Dean boasts.

In the end, the fresh, ripe scent of peach and James’ friendly smile win her over, and Rebecca lets go of Sam’s hand.

++++++++

They’re quiet as they drive the U-Haul back to Lebanon, but it’s a good kind of quiet. The aftermath of hunts seldom feel this good; there’s usually guilt and blame to divvy out between them. But this time, for once, it really feels like they truly saved someone.


End file.
